


The Thorny Šakotis is a Symbol of Love

by HakoX2



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alfred is surprisingly mature, Alternate Character Interpretation, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23557636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakoX2/pseuds/HakoX2
Summary: March 1993, 2 years after the complete liberation of Lithuania from the USSR. Alfred and Tolys begin officially dating, hoping to jump-start their relationship by staying together for a week at his place. One inevitable night, Alfred finds out about the scars -- although they look too fresh to have been inflicted years ago. Convinced that it's the doing of his former superior, he confronts Russia on his boyfriend's behalf and digs too deep into the abyss of their shared past.
Relationships: America/Lithuania (Hetalia), Estonia & Latvia & Lithuania & Russia (Hetalia), Lithuania/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

After ten strenuous hours over the Atlantic, the stairs of the jet had finally unfolded themselves on American soil. Its sole passenger planted his heavy winter boots on the carpet laid before him. As soon as the sunrise graced his dull green eyes, he closed them to enjoy the smell of fresh rain, carried by a relaxing breeze that gently lifted the ends of his long hair. At the edge of the private terminal, the ever-present howl of turbines had churned the same breeze into a formidable gust that nearly swept Alfred off his feet. But the Nation trudged on towards the other side while shielding himself with an arm -- only by looking at his boyfriend’s face for the first time in years, would he allow himself to fall.

When the passenger opened his eyes, something in the distance had disrupted the scenery. At first a smudge on the lens of a perfect shot, then a human ballistic missile with blonde hair dishevelled from the wind. The storm had left behind shallow pools of glassy orange light on the asphalt. They rippled from the impact of the younger man’s dusty Converses, his distinct grin widening with every step.

There was no mistaking it. He really came. In no way was he doubting his beloved, of course. To put it simply, it had been a long time since he'd met someone who would brave wind and rain just to see him.

Tolys’s body seemed to gravitate towards Alfred on its own. He took a tentative step forward, but there was no platform to receive it. His heel grazed the edge of the stairs. Torn away from his suitcase, his lean but heavy-set figure tumbled forward from the entrance of the plane. Luckily, he had someone to catch him.

“Whoa, dude! Be careful!”.

Neither of them had expected something so picturesque to happen on the day of their first official date. Alfred’s cold hands were pressed into the thick fabric of Tolys’s coat. Through the layers did he manage to feel a familiar warmth, and so did the other as he held Alfred’s shoulders close despite having already regained his balance.

“Ah,”. The personification of Lithuania steadied himself. Formalities couldn’t escape him, no matter the distance. “Sorry… Alfred. Did I startle you?". 

Alfred watched the Baltic Nation stumble over his name. With a careful eccentricity and stern determination, he mouthed each syllable to himself first before saying it aloud as if practicing for a live audience. Being fluent in English wasn't necessary back in council; translators were a thing, after all. The level of care Tolys had put into saying his name correctly, and his already good pronunciation in general, was just too endearing for him to not try and return the favour. 

The personification of America took a deep breath. This was going to be a tough one, but hopefully, it was going to be worth it. 

"My dude.". He assumed the confidence of the protagonists of the late-night TV shows he had been binging recently. "As long as you’re alright.”.

That confidence, however, began to wane faster than he expected. “Tolvay -- uh, _Tolvee --_ ".

" 'Tolys' is fine. Please don't worry about it.". 

Tolys's rigid stance loosened as he pulled a hand into his chest. The laughter that shed his poise was so soft and reserved, yet full of life. 

“Oh, come on.”. Alfred ran a hand through his hair. He looked away when he felt himself blush, knowing that it wasn’t from embarrassment. Through all the tumult of the past few decades, hearing the voice of the one he loved convey some semblance of joy convinced him that getting it wrong might’ve been better than getting it right. 

“Laughing at peoples’ misery is mean.”. 

“Oh, my.”. The other stopped laughing. His amusement was replaced by a quizzical and surprisingly innocent expression. “Did I offend you? If so, I apologise.”.

“Uh, It’s a joke.”. Alfred patted the side of his arm as he stayed genuinely perplexed. 

“Well, if you put it that way --”.

The third wheel to their conversation dislodged from the side of the stairs. It skidded down on its side with an ear-splitting screech before landing onto the puddle directly beneath it. On impact, the sides burst at the seams to send a colourful flurry of clothes into the air.

“Ah, no!”. Tolys was the first to react. Completely devastated, he piled his shirts and ties back into the metal casing which looked as if it had been mauled by a wild animal. 

“So much for comedic timing, dude.”. Alfred witnessed the catastrophe from the stairs while picking up whatever he could find. Organisation, especially that of his own belongings, was sacred to Tolys. Besides, he’d probably make things worse, the exact reason why the former had been his housekeeper in the first place.

“My clothes! My books!”. Tolys continued to shriek. His beloved palmed him the items and, without a glance, he placed them in their original positions like clockwork. 

With the last of the items returned, Alfred peered into the interior of the plane. It was strangely bare-bones. The only thing that could’ve possibly reflected its owner was an unfinished glass of water. Meanwhile, his plane had been gifted an SNES from Kiku with the latest games, and a soda machine that served beer via a special switch that Matthew would never know about. 

“Hey, Tolys?”. The important thing was, there were no bags, and neither had the crew stepped out to deliver them. “Is that -- that tiny thing your only bag? If it actually is, you’ve gotta teach me your ways sometime.”. 

“This is a complete mess. I’ll have to take everything out and -- ”.

“Wait, what!?”. This couldn’t possibly be good. As much as he loved his boyfriend’s ability to store the contents of three bags in one, whatever eldritch powers aided him in doing so could get to his head easily. Alfred rushed outside from the back of the jet. “Don’t tell me you’re going to repack, like, right now!”.

“This is a task I must undertake on my own.”. Tolys’s noble declaration was reminiscent of his chivalrous days, fighting gloriously for his crown. With the items laid out before him, he took advantage of every single space available: the lowest platform of stairs, the top of the suitcase, and even his own lap as he knelt down with great discipline.

“I assure you, I will be -- “.

“Wait till we get to my place first!”.

_“Victorious!”._

It was too late. With brute force, he had already wrangled the cover of the suitcase into submission. Glowing with triumph, Tolys stood to admire his handiwork before lifting the handle off the ground and turning to Alfred. 

“Now, then.”. Without realising it, he had flashed his beloved a princely smile. “Shall we depart?”.

That smile, the suitcase, and arriving at just the right moment to embrace each other against the morning sun. Describing the fever dream that was the last five minutes of his life as anything other than ‘impossibly cool’, would be illegal.

“Uh… yeah!”. Alfred blurted out, before sighing. “But seriously. Tolys.”.

“Hm?”.

“Don’t keep doing this to my heart, okay?”.

Customs and immigration had been taken care off back on the flight. After a long trek accompanied by the incessant grinding of the old suitcase’s wheels, the doors to the airport building slid open and greeted the two with a burst of warm air. Alfred’s shoulders sank with relief. A flimsy leather jacket and ragged jeans that barely covered his knees were admittedly a poor choice for spring in D.C. . Meanwhile, the Lithuanian tugged at his scarf, wondering if he had overdressed. 

The further they went into the branch of the complex, minimally designed for the small percentage of private travellers that flew in every year, the more the former insisted that Tolys try what he supposed was the local cuisine -- at the very end of empty lounge rooms and white panelled walkways, a chain coffee joint called Starbucks. Walking into the seating area, he managed to get a glimpse of the warmly lit cabinet, stacked to the brim with cookies, pastries and desserts.

“Alfred, having something so nice on our first day…”. He watched the glass slowly frost around his fingers. The sheath of US dollars bestowed upon him by his new superior remained in his pocket -- they were hard to look at on their own, much less use on something so trivial. “Is it really fine?”.

His beloved gulped the moment he heard those words. Five minutes into meeting him, Alfred had already committed his first major screw-up of the day. Repeating to himself countless times during breakfast, the taxi ride and the arrival lounge to _not let Tolys look at the prices_ had all been for naught. Economics aside, it was one of the many things he would agonise over until his stomach compelled him to acquiesce to someone else’s decision. And he wanted him to have the chance to make them himself.

Tolys watched the blonde brandish his wallet in front of the cashier. He ordered a pair of cappuccinos, one with a double shot. “Alfred?”.

“Tolys…”. Alfred replied, brimming with emotion. He turned to his crouching boyfriend, who was still mesmerised by the cabinet - if his government had really asserted their power in making sure he took this trip, the personification of America pledged to be the best host he could be. 

“You can have anything you want!”. 

“Huh!?”. His bottom collided against the ground as he looked up, hilariously distraught. “I’m terribly sorry, but is this another joke I’m not getting?”. 

“Anything. You. Want.”. Alfred stretched out his hand, dead serious. “Hell, if you really wanted, I could get you the whole menu and then some! So what’ll you be having?”.

Tolys’s mouth formed a delicate ‘o’ shape. It could’ve been just him, but the moment the brunette reached out to take his hand, some colour had been restored within his eyes. A double shot cappuccino, two dinner-plate-sized brioche burgers and a slice of cake later, he was absolutely gleaming to the point that Alfred didn’t mind the silver of space left for his measly cup.

“I hope I didn’t worry you back there.”. Earnestly, he picked every last flake of pastry onto his fork. 

“Worry me?”. Alfred laughed. “This is nothing, dude. What are you talking about?”.

He swallowed, and raised his mug to finish his coffee while it was still warm.

“Well.”. Tolys began with a deep breath, lowering his tone to a solemn one.

“When I was still with him, Mr. Russ -- ”.

“Hold up. Time out.”. The one sitting opposite him raised his arms to form a cross. “No R-words on this trip. Hasn’t even been 40 years since that guy tried to cause the apocalypse. And wait, weren’t you the one who suggested that?”.

Tolys laughed. “Perhaps I was. It seems that I can’t help it -- he was a big part of my past, after all. I hope you don’t mind.”. 

“Well…”. Alfred deliberated. “I guess I’m cool with it. Go on.”. 

“I will, then.”. With his beloved’s permission granted, he smiled. “How should I explain this, I wonder… For starters, eating two or three meals a day is something that would come to humans normally. And Nations like us survive off the population's livelihood. Mr. Russia, he wanted to maximize efficiency…”.

At this point, neither of them liked where their conversation was going. Too upset to hear any more, Alfred’s face fell and he had to take a moment to himself before replying. It pained him the most to watch history resurface in Tolys’s disquieting expression; surely, it was nothing compared to whatever he was reliving behind it. 

As a fellow country, the blonde had suffered plenty on his own. While he had hardly skimmed the surface of Tolys’s experiences in between matters of his independence over the past two years, he knew he had to wait a couple thousand more before he could fathom any of them. In fact, it had always been difficult for him to engage with the hardships of others. He was always too driven to understand them, and the right words would escape him entirely. But at the same time, Tolys wasn’t his housekeeper anymore. His days of keeping to himself in the background were over; the personification of Lithuania was now divulging in things he’d run from any other day while taking his hand beneath the table, and squeezing it.

Alfred felt as if he had a hand around his throat as well, inaction draining him by the second. In this unfamiliar situation, he resorted to something he knew too well -- outrage.

“You weren’t allowed to _eat!?_ ”.

“Please, don’t misunderstand!”. He had failed again. Tolys was now eagerly trying to fix his self-imposed wrongdoings. “With proper experimentation under Russia’s guidance, we learned that we only needed one meal a week at most if our population was well fed. The food would go to the needy, and -- ”. 

Alfred cringed. Tolys was always so formal in his English, trying his best to describe things in the most effective way possible. And the most effective way to describe something was to describe it as it was. He had always been disgusted with his fellow superpower as a person, but the word 'experimentation' -- uttered so innocently by the victim of his horrific machinations as if he deserved it -- made him seem ever more foul. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.". Though hyperventilating with rage and irked to his very core, he decided not to get ahead of himself. The importance of being calm had hit him like a ton of missiles, specifically those planted in the Cuban peninsula back in ‘62. If it could save the world, it could save his relationship, too. 

"I’m not mad. Just… weren’t you hungry?”.

“Of course.". While happy to have a listening ear, Tolys's expression remained forlorn. "We were hungry, all of us. Mr. Russia… even he was hungry, too.". 

Without a word, Alfred let go of his hand. He stood up and pushed in his chair.

"Alfred?". He called out, alarmed. From the start, it was a mistake to even pursue this topic. "Where are you going? Did I -- ".

His beloved lightly tousled his hair. As he weaved his fingers into the soft, dark locks atop his boyfriend’s head, he could feel him shake. First, he jolted up in surprise. Then, his shoulders caved and his body leaned forward, unable to find the tears of joy or sadness that he so desperately wanted to cry.

“You finished, Tolys?”.

He reluctantly turned to face him. “I… suppose I have.”.

He pulled his hand away after feeling some grooves in his crown that shouldn’t have been there. Putting it at the back of his mind, Alfred rushed to grab the suitcase parked near the entrance of the joint. Then, he hauled Tolys up from his seat. 

“Let’s go to my place, then!”

“Already? So soon?”. Before the Lithuanian was able to protest, they were speeding across strips of closed shops and resting areas towards the exit. 

If you’re still hungry, I’ll make your favourite thing from scratch -- well, long as it wasn’t invented in France.". Alfred was looking straight ahead. The suitcase in his grip drifted from side to side like a racer on the tracks. “The ingredients alone cost half my salary, and I’m probably gonna wreck ‘em anyway!". 

Torys winced at the screeching of his heels over the concrete and continued to be helplessly dragged away. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but to put it lightly, I fear for your apartment.”.

“Dude, relax! The last time I burned down my kitchen, you were around to fix it!”.

Alfred only let go of Tolys's hand once they were outside in the carpark, in front of an inconspicuous white ford. Acting the gentleman, its owner unlocked the back door for his boyfriend, whose reflexes had prevented it scratching the adjacent car by the skin of their teeth. The older man declined and resolved to sit in the front seat. He was quite rusty, but given the person driving, he had a nagging feeling that he might have to lean over and take the wheel. 

“Anyway, what _is_ your favourite food?". Alfred started the car, waiting for it to warm up before they took off. Feels like I’ve never gotten the chance to ask.”.

“That’s a hard question.". Tolys sank into the headrest. "We have a week to ourselves -- One of these days, maybe I’ll be able to tell you.”.

After another minute or two, they left for the highways. Tolys couldn’t help but watch the grey complex of buildings disappear behind the roads, while the intense blue sky widened in the distance towards the horizon of a foreign city. During the barrage of red lights meant to cull the early work traffic, Alfred would try to decipher the thoughts behind his ruminative expression. He couldn’t relate, though. The American had always lived by the fact that whatever went on in his head was never meant to be hidden. Conspiracies intertwining last night’s fever dream and lizard people were weird ideas, and ideas in today’s society were like hard cash: it wasn’t worth anything unless it was spent, and a well-spent fortune of those could even bring in a physical one.

In their quieter moments together, Tolys's introversion surrounded him in a distinguished air of mystery that the blonde wished he had. Though it would be a bit cold to say that he liked him purely for their differences. On the surface, Alfred of course found him fascinating. But deep down, he wanted to form a connection with the world within his musings. Perched on the windowsill of grand government buildings, the brunette would delve into early European philosophy before veering off into humble moments of joy he shared between the other Baltics. Between strange, sometimes morbid events described with questionable inside jokes, that mystery was debunked a few sentences at a time and Alfred would see Tolys for who he really was -- the man whose head tilted to the door on his side, lulled into a peaceful sleep by the comforting drone of the engine. 

In the periphery of his vision, the GPS chimed. He smiled to himself and made a left turn into the heart of the city, knowing that their week together would begin at the next junction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm Hako. Thank you for reading my work.
> 
> This is actually my first time trying to write fluff, hurt/comfort and general romance. I usually stick to the psychological stuff, so this is definitely refreshing for me. I'm glad I chose this pairing because these dorks are so interesting to write. Regarding the tags: **Two of these things are not like the other**. They'll be important soon, and I hope you'll stick with me till then. 
> 
> Enjoy the rest of this weird story with a latte next to your laptops/phones. I'll have one as I write, so we'll have a coffee pair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from the writers' room! It's Hako. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.
> 
> I'm really excited to post this because it sparks the Alternate Character Intepretation that I've been waiting to share with you. After two full drafts and greenlights from my wonderful beta readers, both of whom have to grind college along with myself, chapter 2 is finally here. 
> 
> Thank you to [Asters_and_Alyssum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asters_and_Alyssum) for helping with some of the dialogue! Please check out their work. It's worth googling how to insert links with HTML and praying it works.

Alfred craned his head backwards to make sure that no surprise fire hydrants lay in the car’s rear path -- insurance could only cover so much these days. Having Tolys wake up to the rainy T-Rex scene in the new trailer for Jurassic Park would be less than ideal without the thrill of a giant animatronic. 

Unbeknownst to him, his boyfriend had already opened his eyes to the high-pitched tune from the reversing vehicle. For a moment, the peak afternoon sunshine scorched his retinas; the skies over Vilnius would usually be dreary at this time of the year, a pearly lining of clouds over the spires of a hundred cathedrals and one TV Tower. Sluggishly, Tolys propped himself up on his seat and flexed his strained neck. The swollen ache from sleeping on his shoulder at a right angle manifested as alertness returned to him. He pressed his palm into the patch of tense muscle behind his hair; to think that he was tired enough to sleep through it. Nevertheless, he had woken up to things far worse.

“Oh, dude! You’re awake!”. Alfred chirped when he turned back from the rear view mirrors, not without getting a minor shock first from Tolys’s minor bedhead. 

“Ah - Alfred? What’s so funny?”. 

Once clinging to the headrest, a lock of knotted hair reared upwards like a cobra before flattening to his side. “Is there something outside the window?”.

“Okay! Alright.”. His snickers died down and he took his hand off the stick shift. “Just hold still, I’ll get it for you.”. 

Tolys assumed there was a problem with his hair when the blonde reached for the back of his ear. From one seat over, Alfred tried to rein in the tangled clump with his fingers. The brunette squeezed his eyes tightly. The intermittent tension kept throwing his head sideways, intensifying the fear of colliding with something cold and hard.

“My hair is so stubborn, isn’t it?”. Lithuania pulled his arms into his chest, managing a weak laugh. Cutting his hair shorter wasn’t just for practical reasons. “I can probably fix it inside myself. Should we head out?”. 

“Yeah, uh… no problem.”. Alfred flinched the moment he saw the other in pain and went back to fumbling with his keyring. He chose to reply with oblivious confusion, laced with a hint of concern. “We’ll get you fixed up with a comb -- ah, there it is! I swear, I need more of these. The right one’s harder to find than when I didn’t hang them all in one bunch.”.

The blonde tugged the handle of the door and stepped outside. He invited Tolys to do so as well, and Tolys obliged to find himself being escorted to a large red door. A standalone two-storey dwarfed the stuffy apartment blocks lining the street. It was a refreshing change of pace to be free from the dwellings of the working class, hives of drywall, concrete and decay. A spacious balcony and book to himself on a warm day like this one would be invigorating, too, and he delighted at the thought.

After Alfred noticed he had been inserting the key on the wrong side, which took a good three minutes or so, the door was held open for him. A trail of portraits and trinkets on the tops of cupboards led to a spacious room in the distance, filled with light. 

Tolys was ready to make a beeline for the crisp and colourful packets of gourmet coffee beans on the visible kitchen mantelpiece. Blue Mountain, Java, Bourbon, laid out in a single file to be shot down as prizes. It didn’t matter if he was still feeling the last cup in his system. Coffee to him was many things: firstly a commodity, and when it wasn’t, an acquired taste through necessity. What was it now? he wondered, thinking back to the aroma of his Starbucks drink while taking off his shoes.

But of course. It was a way to connect with Alfred; it had been ever since they met. The world they lived in as Nations would forever be subject to the whims of change. The feelings he could pour into crafting a blend -- intense, unrequited and never the same between two cups -- were the only constant he could hold dear. 

Unfortunately, he was stuck outside. The zippers of the Lithuanian’s boots refused to budge. They were a bothersome pair; Fur-lined leather served no purpose in a temperature above zero degrees, and at the same time, it was the only one that wouldn’t give him cold feet on the plane. Tolys hopped to the side on one foot while bending over a raised knee -- a well known aerobic routine for those visiting in Europe. In the meantime, he took shots in the dark as to which was Alfred’s favourite blend out of the three he saw, and tried to recall the temperatures that brought the best out of their flavours. Patience was a virtue, and so were the upturned corners of his boyfriend’s lips while pressed over the edge of a warm mug. 

Alfred gave the heels of his sneakers a brief dust on the askew ‘Welcome’ mat, and stepped inside. “Oh, you can just come in. No need to worry about messing up my place. It can’t get any grosser.”. 

“Is that so?". Tolys chuckled. With one more boot to go, he leaned against the wall to make sure his bare sock didn’t touch the pavement. “This is normal for me back home, so I guess I’ll be worrying about your place for you.”.

“Come on, dude! It’s been decades, there’s so much stuff I need to show you!”.

“I can’t bring myself to imagine how much dirt there is inside your carpet.”. Tolys remarked, masking his delight with jovial sarcasm. Knowing that he was still in need of a housekeeper filled him with overwhelming joy. The paradise he had awaited in an independent future was one of the past. The old days where he could truly roam free in the garden, tending to its shrubbery and picking the Autumn fruits off their trees. Though this place was far from the old colonial house, the conditions were more than perfect for unconditional happiness: the same earth beneath his soles, the same role he could play in the life of his beloved. And of course, the same coffee.

“It’ll take more than just a vacuum -- if we have a paint roller, some bleach and a squeegee, perhaps I could…”. 

“I totally just got the latest espresso machine from a guy who runs coffeehouse chains!”. Alfred piped up. “Good coffee, anytime, anywhere!”.

Tolys stopped struggling. His foot slowly brought itself to the ground, body going limp against the side of the wall. He dipped his head forward so thick bangs would obscure the painful, wide-eyed incredulity warping his face, and bit hard on his lip.

An espresso machine that could make nearly any kind of coffee in minutes… Alfred's words felt strangely insulting to hear. 

“I know you love coffee, so this’ll definitely wanna make you ditch those boots, right?”. Alfred didn’t know what he had done wrong this time. He pouted when he realised his boyfriend was making fun of him in silence. So what if he lacked the motivation to make coffee by hand? Maybe it was time for Tolys to be enlightened by the joy of brainless television in an age of convenience; the American wouldn’t mind machines taking over the world if they made better coffee in five minutes than he could in hours.

“You can, you know… come in and take a look?”. He fumbled around for a response. “We’ve got Blue Mountain, Java, Bourbon -- ”.

“Yes, I know. I saw your shelf from here.”. Tolys tucked his hair back, muttering a coy proposition before the other could reply.

"If you still have a brewer that works by hand, maybe a french press... perhaps we could compete?".

"Huh?". Alfred was surprised, almost captivated by the fiery spark in his eyes.

"My hand-made coffee against your machine.". He insisted. "This would be a perfect chance for me to refresh my skills, and try some of your… _good coffee._ ".

“Well, there’s uh, probably one in the storeroom…”. Alfred hesitated at the shred of disdain in the other’s low timbre, and decided that he was just hearing things. “Still, you gonna hold out fine? I can handle it only ‘cause all the liquid in my body's been replaced by the watered down stuff I get at work. Not sure about you, though.”.

“Oh? ”. Tolys placed an index finger to his chin. “Then, if you were to cry, would your tears be bitter or sweet?”.

The American’s laughter was boisterous and heartful. Yet, the glow of joy on Alfred’s visage was subtle, reaching Tolys as a tinge of red on the edges of his cheeks that reached far up into his ears. Neither of them had an inkling of what this emotion was. They had just learned, though, that it was contagious between the door and the front steps. 

“That has got to be the weirdest and most beautiful way to ask someone how they take their coffee.”. His expression closed into a smile. “You’d make a good poet, Tolys.”.

The Lithuanian averted his beloved’s gaze. "You really think so?".

"Yeah. I do.". Alfred’s expression mellowed with a chuckle, and he reached out to touch Tolys’s cheek. "So, why do you look so sad?".

“A - Anyway, there is no doubt that my constitution is weaker than yours.”. The other pulled away. “But that double shot earlier was rather lacking, so I could still go for another.”. 

“You sure you’re not tired?”. Alfred replied. “I mean, it’s been like, what? Thirteen hours? My bedroom’s good to go, so you can rest -- ”. 

“Please do not underestimate me, Alfred.”. Tolys playfully bent his body closer to the doorframe. His lips formed sultry curves over words that were too delectable for Alfred’s own good.

“A simple competition. The winner gets to top in bed.”. His voice, gentle and professional, exuded mischief; innocence exuded temptation. “What do you say?”.

A steady stream of incoherent curses invaded Alfred’s consciousness. His boyfriend taking the initiative stirred his reserves of scripted foreplay, followed by comically exaggerated moaning. It didn’t help that Tolys was sporting a beguiling mix of puppy-dog eyes and a perceptive stare that accused the flustered blonde of wanting more. 

Clearly, what they knew of intimacy had graduated beyond a chaotic office line and a glass cubicle frosted with rain. Everything felt infinitely more visceral than coiling his fingers around a rusty red wire, and that was nothing short of intimidating. His only experience in the realm of romance was the later the show, the sleazier it was. The harder the scenes were to get out of his head, and the more black coffee he had to drink in the White House to forget it all. But this couldn’t be waived off in the same way. Once a spectator and now a protagonist, he had to make a move.

“Alright, you’re on!”. Alfred gave Tolys a warm welcome with his incorrigible competitive spirit. It helped him thrive through any situation, no matter how awkward it was.

“Very well.”. Tolys strode into the house, greeted by an adrenaline-fuelled grin. “May the best cup --”. 

“Ah, Tolys.”. Alfred pointed at his feet. “Your other boot’s gonna be lonely, you know.”.

“I’m sorry?”. It took a few seconds for his high to wear off. He looked down, and instantly figured out why his beloved was completely hysterical. The brunette hung his head and did a moonwalk of shame back to the front door at a hundred miles per hour.

“Dude, what are you even doing!?”. His beloved doubled over at the end of the corridor. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be forgetting stuff!”.

From outside, the Lithuanian sighed. Hopefully, the embarrassment would kill him before the caffeine did. 

When the other boot had finally decided to yield, Tolys let himself back into the apartment. Dust had colonised the living room. Dilapidated cardboard boxes were bursting from the storage space near the connected kitchen counter. There, Alfred was tinkering with an aged glass capsule about a hundredth the size of the mess he created. Meanwhile, his guest watched the rounded steel casing of the espresso machine contort both their reflections like a funhouse mirror. 

“You know, I have absolutely no intention to lose.”. 

“We’ll see about that.”. The blonde mused from the other end of the kitchen. Two hundred years of coffee heritage had failed him; He approached the french press’s assembly the same way he would a newly discovered element, wrinkling his nose while analysing each component at eye level. And thus, he came to the ingenious conclusion that the metal plunger, shaped like the bottom of the capsule, should go inside the capsule and not stacked on top of it.

“And done!”. He patted himself on the back for his hard work. “Hey, Tolys! Come take a look!”.

“Huh? Sure…”. The Lithuanian pulled his feet together at the sound of his voice. He kept the espresso machine in his line of sight as he turned into the kitchen, interlocking his fingers and twisting them restlessly behind his back. For the sake of his beloved, he convinced himself that foul play had never crossed his mind.

The American presented the completed french press with the eager jazz hands of an infomercial host. Tolys lifted it high to marvel at the rustic metalwork of its curious little legs, bent inwards to form a tripod. Where light met the curvature of the glass, tinted with memories of an age gone by, glittery spots danced on the stone countertop. Setting it down again converged them into blurry silhouettes that gained form in his reminiscence.

He could make out the bustling inner city on a quiet Saturday evening. A closed window could muffle everything but pulsing streetlamps and the colourful glare of neon signs. Before drawing the curtains to end the day, he’d look out fondly into the dazzling diversity of the Big Apple, and the stretch of darkness behind it he could vaguely call ‘home’.

Somewhere out there was the Baltic Sea, where the waters were always flowing, beckoning waves cold and indiscriminate. It conquered sandcastles and footprints no matter how tall they stood, how deeply they had made their mark on the Earth. The swirling ocean in his hands, a thank-you brew his employer would try making to celebrate a good week, was filled with warmth he couldn’t easily find on the other side of the world. 

At that hour, the colour of black coffee would match the Baltic Sea. But the Lithuanian simply longed for the bed. For Alfred, and another morning in their landlocked haven. Tolys’s calloused hands clung to the sides of the old french press, harrowed by his dreams of tomorrow having fallen deep into yesterday. Outside the apartment, he felt as if he too had been tucked lovingly into a box and left behind for decades. 

Nothing would stop him from making Alfred remember the significance of this machine.

“Your very own french press.”. His beloved washed the dust off his hands with a smirk. “Compared to my tech, it’s a one-way ticket to a sore ass -- but you do you, I guess!”.

“Alfred, do you know why this contraption is special to me?”.

Alfred broke out in cold sweat. He gave a flat hum in place of a coherent response. Out of the many things he didn’t know, he felt like the answer to this question shouldn’t have been one of them.

“Do you know why?”. Tolys prompted him again. 

“Because… this was the same one we used back then!”. He snapped his fingers with certainty. He couldn’t really tell one french press apart from another, but its form brought a faint sense of nostalgia -- and a whiff of Blue Mountain that he wasn’t sure existed in the 20’s. “Oh wait, that can’t be it…”.

“What are you talking about?”. His boyfriend laughed with patient desperation. “This model is far too recent. Besides, It looks too fragile to be able to last almost seventy years.”. 

“We…”. Alfred tried not to sound completely lost. “We always made coffee with a french press?”. 

“I’m not sure if you remember, but I’ve made our coffee very differently in the past.”.

“Yeah.”. The other lifted his voice in realisation. “Speaking of that, why’d you ask for a french press when we usually had it pour-over? Granted, it was a gift from France, but…”. 

Alfred trailed off. The Lithuanian’s expression of halfhearted delight began to corner him, an indication that his offhand remark had hit the nail right on the head.

Francis’s generosity had him acquire the machine a good month before it was patented. 1929 was the promised year he recalled, from the gentleman’s musings of revolutionising beans and hot water. Caffeinated goodness crushed right into a cup -- painfully simple, and infinitely practical. 

The American shivered. Those years were marked by all forms of revolutions bringing decadence, and the following by devastation. And devastation always brought with it an unwanted visitor, trampling on the people most precious to him...

“The month Mr. France gave you his latest model, it was my last at your place.”. Tolys’s reply was filled equally with resignation and relief. He chuckled, a weak vocalisation of assent towards the horrors of his final weeks. The greatest among them did not need human suffering to linger through the centuries. Within the violence and famine was the essence of something truly haunting for them both -- separation. For him, it was the kindness of his beloved. For his beloved, it was all that he had ever known. 

“I’m not sure why out of all the coffee I’ve made for us both, the cups I brewed with it became the most precious to me.”. But those times could only linger. Tolys closed his eyes and smiled through to the present. 

“Since then, I guess you could say I’ve been practicing.”. Today’s prosperity was the calm after a storm best forgotten, and he rejoiced being fortunate enough to live through it with Alfred. “For when I had the chance to use this again.”.

“It’s --”. Alfred’s bottom lip quivered, and his eyes dropped to trace the kitchen tiles. The Lithuanian masked his emotions with calmness, and yet was overcome by them; watching him warmed and broke his heart at the same time. “But it’s been ages since then. And you waited out that long… just for this?”.

“That’s right.”. Tolys affirmed. “Blink and a remarkable machine is a mere piece of scrap. Still, when I’m looking at it now, it feels like I can make something just as special.”.

Certainly, it felt odd to begin anew by reaching out to the past. But the full-circle satisfaction that Tolys held, and began filling with fresh water made it hard for him to resist enjoying life for just a little bit more. 

He shut the tap. The last droplets falling into the sink were accompanied by the trickle of tears.

“Tolys?”. Alfred could only endure the silence for so long. He rushed over to the brunette and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, you okay?”.

“I think… “. Tolys’s reply was stifled with soft hiccups. “I think I’m happy. Even still, I…”. 

His beloved dug his nose against the nook of his neck and shoulder. He relaxed his shoulders, and allowed his broad arms to snake around his waist. 

“Then, are your tears bitter or sweet?”.

“I don’t know.”. 

Muttering those three words under his breath gave him some semblance of relief, and Alfred’s cheery grin began to ease him into taking it for granted. 

“Then tell me over my award-winning espresso!”. 

The American beamed in an attempt to lift the mood, locking his arms in place when his boyfriend’s expression lightened, but remained largely unchanged. Because Tolys could tell when that smile had lost its genuinity to tentative fear; things had to move forward to make their time together at least somewhat palatable, and they clearly weren’t.

And still, the corners of his lips were raised so painfully, promisingly. Like the hand so eager to pick him up when he had fallen, the ears that would let frivolous insecurities over coffee fall deaf. The notion of being replaced by a soulless machine was simply childish; even if he had gone through with one of his hundred ways to tear it apart and pass it off as an accident, his beloved would’ve forgiven him anyway. Tolys knew he was valued for more than what he used to be, and in a way he didn’t deserve.

The war machine of the West, who struck down his enemies with the same ungodly strength as his abuser in an eternal bout of thoughtless rage… his kindness was still the same. That’s why, more than anything, the Lithuanian needed to forsake it. In front of things he didn’t understand, in front of his own wrongdoings, his first instinct was to cover his head. Drowning out the noise of the bells that tolled for him.

“Maybe later.”. 

“Huh?”. Alfred sulked. “But you were so hyped about it just now --”.

“I’m a bit tired, so I’ll take your advice and get some rest.”. Tolys wriggled out of his grasp. He turned and pulled the other’s body slightly closer to him, resting his head on him.  
Of course, he wasn’t seeking comfort. This was merely a parting gesture, perhaps a token of what lovers would normally do.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I really am.”. 

“Oh, uh, it’s… alright?”. Alfred replied, perplexed. “Well, whatever it is, don’t feel bad about it. Rest up, okay? I’ll wake you later.”.

The brunette placed both his palms flat on his chest, unable to plead or push him away. Alfred let go and he emptied the french press, placing it upside down on the dish rack before sauntering out of the kitchen with inaudible footsteps.

If the mood of their vacation wasn’t already in shambles, it was about to be. And he’d be completely screwed -- not in the way he was looking to be -- if the following days continued to share the same tempo. He had to get things together, no matter how compelled he was to shout, tear his hair out and even beg if it would get Tolys to tell him how to fix whatever had happened between them. His boyfriend was as easy to decipher as his past, a trait he loved without acknowledging that it was the greatest thing that drove them apart.

 _“Fuck.”._ The host rubbed his temples and hissed. He paced around the living room, jiggling his keys. Working out his stress caused a subtle chime to echo from his pocket throughout the entire apartment. Once or twice, he considered the possibility that he was thinking too much. His anxieties were at the levels of those in the war room, and he had no intention to be there at this time.

Well, not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. One thing that I've noticed in some AmeLiet works is that Tolys retains who he is throughout the years of abuse he's had to endure. His ever-present capacity for empathy and kindness towards others compels us to keep loving him. We want him to be happy, so we find ourselves wishing for the fluffy moments where his yearning for comfort and comfortable people is reciprocated by none other than our cinnamon chad. To have him defend this happiness against external forces beyond his control. This series of tropes is played out extremely well in the majority of works and makes for a satisfying read.
> 
> Here, I wanted to try something else. Abuse, especially several decades' worth of inhuman treatment commonly lampshaded by the fandom, can change a man. And Tolys is no more human than anyone else, having as much potential to internalise patterns of destructive thinking after suffering for so long. Being deprived of a certain acceptance around the parties he's been surrounded with leads to emotions like the aforementioned yearning, something completely justified for his character based on his mountain of insecurities. While planning the direction of this story, I was thinking to myself: could these emotions be double-edged swords, and provide points of tension by overshadowing his primary qualities?
> 
> In one of the ships that many consider one of the fandom's 'healthiest', perhaps its most pervasive flaw comes from its main driving forces: Hurt/Comfort. the hurting which can hurt others just as much, to which comforting alone may not be able to fix. The next chapter will focus more on America's development as the one who 'comforts', before a jarring discovery. Thank you for reading this brainfart, and as always, I'll be working hard.


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